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Rune’s accented words sent a shock down Faye’s spine. He did it? She would have a shard. Faye gazed at Sparrow, who widened her eyes and turned her hand up in silent question.
“Let him in,” Faye said.
Sparrow stepped back as Rune entered. Faye bit the inside of her lip. His long white-blonde hair hung loose down his back, in contrast to his tailored black suit.
Rune smiled at her. “You look well.”
“No, no.” Sparrow moved to stand between them, blocking her view of him. “You’re not here to talk to her fang boy. Altar only.”
Rune thinned his lips at Sparrow and exhaled. “Business then.” He called a circular metal tray with a low lip. “I crafted a spell that can pinpoint an altar using blood. I will need a small amount of hers.”
Faye nodded, and he set the tray on the table. She outstretched her hand, looking away when his fingers slid over her arm. His touch was too familiar— And his scent. Faye missed waking in his bed, curled up to him. Amber and sandalwood surrounding her.
Rune positioned her wrist over the tray. Warmth spread over it, crawling up her forearm.
Faye took a breath. “What are you doing?”
“Numbing your wrist.” Black bled through Rune’s eyes as his nails sharpened into black-tipped claws.
Faye couldn’t meet Voshki’s yearnful gaze and hide what she felt. She wanted to lean into him. To give in to the feeling within her that longed for them every moment they were apart.
Pressure on her wrist brought her back to the present, her blood slowly pooled in the metal dish.
Rune closed his eyes, and Faye swallowed as the veined misted shadows beneath his eyes receded. He brushed his thumb across her wrist and silently withdrew his touch.
Faye retreated to the sink, rinsing the smeared blood from her wrist as Rune picked up the dish.
His shard of Darkness glowed, the black mist curling into itself. Her blood boiled and hissed, and Rune set it back on the table. “When the blood stops reacting, I will need to phase you to Necromia. Your altar location will act as a beacon, and I will phase us to it.”
Faye’s brow lowered. “I don’t have soul shards or supplies to invoke my blood.”
“I do,” Sparrow announced, disappearing down the hall leaving her alone with Rune. Faye studied her dishes, refusing to engage with him and Sparrow returned a short time later with a small white box.
Faye stared blankly. “When did you get this?”
“I had Vash pick it up a while ago.”
Faye opened the box and unfolded the raw red silk. A small basket held a curved knife and a handful of soul shards.
Rune’s brow lowered as he reached for the tin holding her blood. It was dark now, congealed to the bottom of the dish. He set it back on the table. “Your altar is in Anaria.”
Faye shared Rune’s baffled look, and Sparrow broke the silence. “Figures, your altar is here. Maybe that’s why your stubborn ass would never leave.”
The only reason she stayed in Anaria was because she didn’t want to be surrounded by dark-bloods who looked down on her.
Sparrow clapped her hands together, startling Faye. “When do we go?”
She couldn’t match her sister’s excitement. Inadequacy weighed heavily on her even after all these years. The creeping feeling that her real family knew she was lacking. Their abandonment was justified. “I need to go alone.”
Sparrow wilted and gave her a wounded look.
“I love you, but I did this in front of people before. I want to be alone when I invoke my blood.” In case it fails again.
Sparrow came forward and hugged her tight, whispering, “You were at the wrong altar.” Her sister pulled back, taking Faye’s hands as she met her gaze. Faye could only manage a weak smile. “Necromia is a peasant altar anyway. Fang boy is taking you somewhere much nicer.”
Faye grinned at Sparrow’s words and laughed when she glimpsed Rune’s unamused expression as he regarded Sparrow. He probably wanted to throttle her.
She stepped closer to Rune, offering her hand. “Shall we.”
